Waiting for First Light
by Maeve's Child
Summary: Just something sweet to read with your coffee.
1. Before Dawn

_This may or may not be a one shot. You'll have to tell me whether it's worth continuing. I don't doubt that there's going to be a glut of Alistair/PC fanfiction, because Bioware and David Gaider are evil geniuses. But here it is anyway. Enjoy._

_

* * *

  
_

It was just before dawn. Aine pondered something Wynne had said to her, as she stood staring at the slowly brightening sky.

"_Like the whole world is holding its breath, waiting for first light," Wynne said quietly._

Aine smiled, remembering the beatific look in Wynne's kind eyes. She was glad that amidst all the strife of the last months, that she been able to do something other than polish her blades with blood. Even so, blood and especially the black sticky blood of the darkspawn graced her dreams far more than she could handle when she closed her eyes. Which was why she was standing outside her tent, instead of curled up warm next to Alistair who still slept inside.

She reached into one of the pouches on her belt and pulled out the rose Alistair had given her. She thumbed the still soft petals, amazed that the flower wasn't dead. It was so strange, that after all the time since Lothering, the flower was still alive. Before the Blight began, despite having met mages before, she'd never really understood the power of magic. But there was magic in this flower; of that she was certain.

She shifted her weight from one hip to the other as she caressed the petals. She smiled to herself, enjoying the now familiar, yet still new feeling of being a woman. It did trouble her a bit, knowing that the precious virginity that she'd so tightly clung to was gone. But then again, she was a Grey Warden now, not just Lady Cousland. Her prized noble virginity was far less of a treasure now. After all, there wasn't any reason for her to worry about a husband in a marriage bed now. That wasn't her life any more.

There was a rustling sound behind her and she turned to see Alistair pop his head out through the opening in the canvas of the tent. His hair was rumpled and his eyes were blurry with sleep. He gave her a worried look.

"Nightmares?" he asked softly. Aine nodded sadly. Clumsily, he dragged himself to his feet, pulling the blanket with him. He stood behind her, wrapping the blanket and his arms around her shoulders. She settled herself back against him. She hadn't realized how cold she was, standing out in the dark in only her shift. She shivered.

"Want to talk about it?" he asked, punctuating his sentence with a kiss on the top of her head.

"No," she replied. "I'd rather talk about something else. Since we both know that there's not a damn thing that will help with my nightmares except sticking a blade into the archdemon."

"There's that," he chuckled. Aine turned around in his arms and reached up, planting a kiss on the tip of his nose.

"Let's go back in the tent," she said, a strange and sad look dancing across her face. Alistair furrowed his brows.

"That good?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing that dire, "she said. "Just not something I really would like an audience for. And the others will be up soon. Well, Sten and Wynne anyway. I don't think either of them sleep very much."

"Good point," he said, holding the flap of the tent open for her. Together they crawled inside. Aine settled herself on the ground, crossing her legs in front of her, setting the rose she still held in her lap. Alistair smiled at it, but didn't say anything. He met her eyes. There was a moment of awkward silence.

"Did you know that I met Cailan once before Ostagar?" Aine said finally.

"Really?" Alistair asked. "I guess that's not so strange. Was it at a Landsmeet?" He shuddered almost imperceptibly at the word, like it had a bitter taste. Aine pretended not to notice.

"It was," she continued. "I was maybe fourteen or fifteen at the time. My father insisted on taking me as well as Fergus this time. He said it was important that I get to know the other noble families . . . well, their eligible sons anyway. I was lucky that my parents hadn't insisted on an arranged marriage for me, but it was expected that I'd pick a nice noble boy on my own.

I didn't have any interest in any of that nonsense. I was young and bored senseless by the dance of backhanded compliments and political posturing of the Landsmeet. During one particularly dull meeting, I slipped out unnoticed and found myself in the palace gardens. That's where I discovered I wasn't the only one that was bored to tears by all the posturing.

Cailan was sitting on a stone bench, fiddling with the straps of the ceremonial armor he wore. He's only a bit older than we are, you know, and he was far more interested in stories and battles than in political machinations. He must have heard me coming, and he looked up at me and grinned.

You really do look a lot like him, you know," she said.

"So I've been told," Alistair said, his voice more sad than most would be when compared to the undoubtedly handsome former king.

"I know you don't want to hear this," she continued, "But it isn't just your face, or the color of your eyes either. You are far more like Cailan than I'm sure you want to be. But before I get sidetracked," she said, clearing her throat.

"Anyway," she started again, "I know that Cailan didn't recognize me, when we met again at Ostagar, but I certainly remembered him. The two of us spent the afternoon in the garden together. Cailan told me stories . . . of all things . . . about the Grey Wardens. He was fascinated with them. And after listening to him, I was too. Now, I will admit that the stories and reality are not exactly the same, but that's another tale.

I'm sure you've heard them yourself; and you know how Cailan was. He was thrilled to his core by the idea of doing something great. But it wasn't for the reasons that most men desire glory. Cailan wanted desperately to live up to King Maric's greatness. It was obvious that he felt like it was his entire purpose for being alive. And it was also obvious that he was very afraid of failing to do so."

"Really?" Alistair interrupted. "He seemed so confident that he would succeed at everything. I remember thinking he was a fool. And then I felt pretty foolish, reminding myself who I was. His half-brother and a bastard to boot. It wasn't exactly a kind thought."

"You weren't the only one to think that. But that confidence was mostly bravado on his part," Aine said. "Or at least, it seemed so to me, remembering the nineteen year old boy that I spent an afternoon with in the rose garden." She glanced down at the rose in her lap unintentionally.

"Roses, eh?" Alistair snapped, a hint of irritating creeping into his voice.

"Don't," Aine replied, trying not to sound snappish. "Let me finish so you can be mad at me for all the right, stupid reasons."

Alistair grinned despite himself. He nodded, "Go on."

"As I was saying, I was in the garden with Cailan for a long time. He even told me about his arranged and impending marriage to Anora, which he was not at all happy about. I told him how my parent's were allowing me to choose my own husband and he was positively green with envy. And wonderfully flirtatious, especially when I was just a gawky, awkward thing at fourteen.

After the Landsmeet finally ended and we returned home, I had all sorts of wonderfully ridiculous and undoubtedly childish fantasies about becoming the Queen of Ferelden," she paused. "Maker, that sounds really stupid to say out loud."

"I can honestly say I never had any fantasies about becoming Queen," Alistair interjected sarcastically. The grin on his face suddenly fled as he continued. "But I think about being King all the time now. And it makes me feel ill."

"That's the thing we need to talk about," she said quietly. "And it makes me feel pretty ill too." Alistair stared at her, the furrow between his brows deepening. He looked for a moment like he was going to say something, but then thought better of it.

"We had to talk about it eventually," she said. She reached out and laced her fingers through his and he clutched her fingers tightly. His hands were uncharacteristically cold.

"But I don't know what to do about it," she said. "Because I can't decide how to deal with the cold fact that person I love more than anyone in the world is going to be the King of Ferelden."

Alistair looked up at her. "I love you too," he said. "But I don't know what to do about it either."

"If things were different," Aine continued. "Lady Cousland would be an excellent match for the King of Ferelden actually. But I'm not just Lady Cousland any more. I'm a Grey Warden. And I have no idea what that means, when it comes to this."

"Me neither," Alistair said. "I don't know what being King is going to mean for us. But I do know, that no matter what happens, I will _always _love you. To my very last breath. Of course, King or not, I'm a Grey Warden too, and that last breath might come long before I need to worry about being King."

"I wish Duncan was here," Aine whispered, her voice choking off.

"You're telling me," Alistair replied.

They sat in silence, their fingers still clasped together so tightly both their knuckles went white. Aine shivered again, and only wished it was because she was cold. Slowly the light filtering through the canvas of the tent brightened and the comforting sound of Wynne humming under her breath broke the silence. Sten's terse greeting to the mage, and her good natured reply. Then Zevran's voice, grumbling about how he wished they shut up. Aine glanced up at Alistair under her eyelashes, and saw the grin of her face mirrored on his.

Gently, he reached out with the hand she wasn't holding for dear life, and cupped her chin, tilting her face up.

"Aine," he said quietly, trying to make sure they were not overheard. "I know that since this began, it's all turned into something neither of us could ever have imagined. I know now that no matter what I do, sometimes the future is completely beyond our control. The only thing that we can control is what we do, _right now. _And right now, I love you more than I ever thought possible. I know you love me, and it makes me feel like I can do anything. I am going to do whatever I can to make sure that I'm worthy of it. I promise, that if it can be so, I will make at least one of your childhood fantasies come true. If I have my way, you _will_ be Queen of Ferelden."

He leaned in and kissed her. His lips were warm and persistent. It felt to Aine like his very soul was in that one simple kiss.

Then, without another word, he pulled away and grabbed his shirt, slipping it over his head quickly. He flung open the flap to the tent and crawled out, standing up just outside the door and offering her his hand.

"Come on," he said, grinning. "We have darkspawn to slaughter."

Aine smiled back at him, took his outstretched hand and the promise it held.


	2. Dizzy

_So I guess it's not a one shot after all. Hm. I have no idea where this is going. I guess I'll figure it out when I get there._

_

* * *

_

Orzamar had taught Aine one important thing at least. Angry dwarven women hit as hard as any golem. It wounded her pride a bit to remember it, but she'd spent a good portion of the battle against Branka unconscious on the ground. Aine half remembered opening her eyes and seeing Alistair standing over her, fighting a stone monstrosity that was threatening to step on her. Or at least she thought she remembered that; it might be just wishful thinking on her part. Especially considering the new coldness she could practically feel emanating from Alistair in waves ever since they left the deep roads.

Cracked skull and all, she had managed to stay upright long enough to see Bhelen on the throne and receive his promise of aid. And then, they stumbled out into the Frostback mountains, trudged downwards for a day or two, where Aine had quite gracefully vomited and passed out in a heap on the side of the trail.

When she finally came to, she found herself on the edge of a rather somber little camp. Wynne was clucking about like a mother hen, tending to wounds. Luckily it appeared that her own smashed head was the worst of the injuries, although the rest were certainly in less than perfect condition. Zevran had a thick bandage tied around his upper thigh, Lelianna wore a sling on her left arm and even Sten looked pale under his bronze skin.

Aine found herself propped up on some furs, covered by a blanket that she immediately recognized was Alistair's. It was worn and threadbare, but still warm. And even better, she thought, taking a deep breath through her nose, his scent clung to it. Faint, but there. She tried to sit up and was assaulted with dizziness so profound by just lifting her head that she immediately thought better of it. She reached up a felt the top of her head. Surprisingly, her hair felt clean, as it someone had washed the blood away while she was out. She winced when she touched the crown of her head and her eyes watered. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and blinked a few times, looking around the camp, trying not to move her head. Alistair was no where to be seen.

Wynne realized almost as soon as Aine had that she was awake and she made her way over to her. She crouched down next to Aine's nest of blankets. And she crouched rather gracefully for a woman her age. Aine couldn't help but smile. Her own mother was gone, that was a true and sad fact, but Wynne was the next best thing.

"I'm glad to see you are finally awake," Wynne clucked, handing Aine a mug of warm broth. "Drink it all, you need it to heal. And as much as I would prefer to see you not have to do a thing for a month, there are things to be done I suppose."

Aine nodded. "Now that all the treaties have been promised, it's time to return to Redcliffe. We've got a nation to unite and a Blight to stop." Aine sipped the broth, and it felt like life was suddenly returning. The sick dizzy feeling in her head started to recede.

"What's in this broth Wynne?" she asked.

Wynne clicked her tongue. "I am a mage dear," she said, getting to her feet.

"In other words, I don't want to know, right?"

"Smart girl," Wynne replied. "Now, let's see if I can get you to your feet." She offered her hand.

Gingerly, Aine set the cup on the ground, swallowed and took her hand. She managed to get to her feet, but the world felt . . . wobbly. She tried to take a step but stumbled back. She would have fallen, but she fell into something solid. Something solid with arms that grabbed her before she fell down again. For a split second, she expected it to be Alistair, but she realized soon enough that it wasn't.

"Thanks Sten," she said. "I seem to be a little on the woozy side."

"So it seems," he replied, terse and short as always. He passed her to Wynne like a doll who steadied her with soft hands on her shoulders. Sten handed her the mug of broth. "Drink," he said before walking off.

"Strange man," Wynne said softly. "But loyal. He adores you, you know. Well, at least as much as a Qunari can adore anything, I suppose."

Aine smiled. "Hey, anything's possible. I've definitely come to realize that fact in recent days. Or . . . wait, I guess not all that recent. How long has it been since Ostagar anyway?" she asked.

"Nearly a year, "Wynne replied. "And we are all still alive and kicking. I am amazed; If someone had told me before I went to Ostagar that I would end up in the foothills of the Frostback mountains with a Qunari, an elven assassin, an apostate witch from the Kokari Wilds, Lady Cousland and the future King of Ferelden I would have had a good long laugh. But here we are."

"Speaking of the future King of Ferelden," Aine asked softly. "Where is Alistair?"

"Still sulking, I imagine," Wynne replied.

"Sulking?"

"That boy has quite the deep pool of guilt. The Chantry taught him well, I suppose," Wynne said. "So between his rambling guilt about 'letting' Branka break your skull, and his new found anxiety about the impending Landsmeet. Well, let just say, he's been even more useless in camp than usual."

Aine sighed. "I need to find him." She pulled away from Wynne, tried to straighten her shoulders, but the dizziness hit her again.

"Oh no you don't," Wynne said. "He'll be back when he's ready, and you are in no condition to go looking for him anyway. Come now, lets sit you by the fire and I'll get you another cup of broth. A few more mugs, and tomorrow morning we might be able to be on our way. Redcliffe isn't coming to us, after all. And it's a long walk, as my old bones are reminding me."

"You're right," Aine said sadly, letting Wynne guide her to the fire. She flopped down on the ground next to its warmth and obediently took the refilled mug. She stared into the flames as Wynne wandered off to fuss over someone else.

She was too tired to even think. Her eyes glazed over as she watched the dancing flames. The base of the flames nearest to the logs has a blue-violet tint. Like the fire the archdemon spewed out in her dreams. Aine shivered a little. She was startled out of her glassy state as Lelianna draped Alistair's blanket over her shoulders and gracefully sat down next to her. She wrapped her arm around Aine's waist.

"Are you alright?" Lelianna asked.

"No," Aine replied. "But I will be. At least physically anyway."

They sat in silence for a bit. Aine was grateful to have her friend there, and there was a certain comfort to Lelianna's presence. But it wasn't Lelianna's arm she wanted wrapped around her waist. Maybe it was the head wound, but tears sprung up in Aine's eyes despite her best attempts to prevent it.

"Once we go to Redcliffe, things are never going to be the same, are they?" Aine asked.

"But who can say what they will become, no?" Lelianna replied.

"I just . . . ," Aine stumbled on her words. " . . . I just . . . I can't believe I'm saying this, but I just don't _want_ things to change. I must be insane, but living like this, with all of you . . . I've never been happier in my life."

Lelianna chuckled. "It is not so strange. Friendship and love will do that."

"Love," Aine spat. She choked on the word. "I'm a fool."

"Why do you say this?" Lelianna asked, her delicate brows furrowed.

"Love an irreverent Gray Warden? Certainly. Love the King of Ferelden, who will need an heir I probably can't provide him? Hardly," Aine spat.

"Ah, do not get ahead of yourself. Besides, you are young, many things are possible," Lelianna said.

"Young, and tainted."

"Why does that matter?" Lelianna asked. "There have been stranger things in Thedas than this, no? Besides, before you decide your love has ended, you may want to speak with the future king yourself." Lelianna inclined her head towards the trees.

Aine looked up and saw Alistair appear between the pines. He was pale, but whole. He'd left his armor off, and wore only a much patched shirt and the leather leggings he wore under his plate. He didn't see her at first, but once he realized she was awake and upright, he quickened his pace towards her. Before he could reach them, Lelianna kissed Aine gently on her cheek and got to her feet.

"Remember," she whispered. "Anything is possible with love. May the Maker watch over you. Both of you." Lelianna winked and walked away.

Aine glanced back at Alistair. He walked towards her with a wan, grim look on his face. Aine felt the sudden urge to pull the blanket over her head. She swallowed weakly, and her stomach did a shockingly painful flip. She took a sip of her broth, hoping it might get her heart out of her throat. She stared into the murky liquid.

Alistair didn't say anything, just sat down next to her, conspicuously not touching her. He didn't say anything for what seemed like an entire day. If she could have, Aine would have crawled inside the mug and drowned herself.

Finally, he spoke. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean . . . ,"

Aine interrupted him. "You don't need to say it," she said, looking up at him with blazing eyes. "I'm not the clinging type. I know you didn't mean what you said before when left for Orzamar, and I won't hold you to it. You have more important things to deal with than a weepy Gray Warden. There's no need to say anything."

"What?" Alistair asked. "Wait. What are you saying? Did I hit my head too?"

"I know what you are going to say," she said. Unable to meet his eyes anymore, she looked back into the mug. "And I understand. Once we go the Redcliffe and the Landsmeet, and you're king . . . I know what that means. I mean, I'll still lead the armies into the battle and all. And we'll still be . . . you know, friends. But I know that . . . ."

"What? No!" Alistair laughed. "That's not it, at all. I wanted to apologize for letting Branka hit your head, when I should have had your back. You don't actually think . . Maker, you thought I was going to. . . I just feel like an ass, about that fight. And a bit preoccupied with what's to come. If I'd thought that you'd get so upset about me being morose, I would have faked it." Alistair sighed.

"You mean, you aren't going to tell me that I need to go back to my own tent?" she asked, her voice barely a whimper.

"Of course not!" Alistair moved in front of her and took the mug from her cold hands. He put his hands on either side of her face, so she couldn't look away.

"She must have hit you harder than I thought if you think I'm just going to let you go," he said. "I meant every word. You _do_ make me feel crazy, but I don't want to be without you. Ever. Whether I'm the King of Ferelden or not."

"Do you think _we_ really get to make that choice?" Aine asked.

"I'd hope there was a least one perk of being King, by the Maker. I'd expect one of them is who I get to spend my life with," Alistair said.

"You'd have to ask Cailan about that," Aine said, turning her eyes away, even if she couldn't turn her face away.

"Ha," Alistair snorted. "I don't exactly have any parents around to arrange such a thing. Besides," he continued, "I can't imagine anyone else could put up with my bad jokes." Aine smiled a bit, completely against her will. Alistair leaned in and kissed her cheek softly.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves anyway," he said. "I'm not king just yet. Although it's a little . . . okay, a lot scary to think about trying to be king when I have a hard time getting even _you_ to listen to me."

Aine chuckled. "I'm especially dense, so I'm not a good marker of your oratory skill."

"That so? Well, that's fine with me. I have all other skills to use on you." He winked at her.

"What am I going to do with you? Or me for that matter?" she said around her grin.

"How about we start with lunch?" he suggested. "I'm starving."


	3. The King of Ferelden

Ser Cautherine lay in a heap on the floor. She was still alive but in no condition to continue to block their way into the Landsmeet. Aine held her by her hair, a blade to the woman's throat, her hand paused to slit it. She looked up and caught Wynne's eyes. Wynne shook her head and Aine let go and allowed Cautherine to fall on her face. Wynne winced, but said nothing. The entrance hall was a bloody mess, as was Aine. She looked over her shoulder at Alistair, still trying to catch his breath and equally as covered in gore.

This will make for an interesting entrance, she thought. Despite the grim look in his eyes, Alistair's mouth smiled when he caught her looking. Pure bravado on his part, but she was impressed nonetheless. Aine felt the familiar tingle of magic and the oozing wound on her shoulder mended itself.

"Come on then," Aine said sharply. "Let's go scare the pants off the nobles, shall we?"

Alistair appeared at her side, straightening his shoulders and trying not to look like he was scared to death. Aine gave him a smile.

"We can do this, _you _can do this," she whispered to him.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"As sure as anything," she replied, despite the cold lump in her stomach.

"Let's do this," Alistair said, staring at the heavy door. She could see the muscle twitching in his jaw as he clenched his teeth. Aine took a deep breath. She was still amazed at herself with what she intended to do in there. She hadn't even told Alistair and she was as much terrified of what he would say as what the other nobles would do. To the Maker with the nobles, as far as she was concerned. But Alistair was another matter entirely.

Trying not to think about it any further, and resisting the urge to take Alistair's hand and cling to it for dear life, Aine strode forward and threw the door open. The Landsmeet gasped and twittered, as she expected they might. Running her fingers through her blood drenched hair, she marched her way towards Loghain. Loghain's resonant voice echoed through the chamber.

"Eamon intends to put a puppet on the throne. He knows it, you all know it. The better question is who will pull the strings!" he shouted.

He glared at her with his cold eyes before he continued. "Ah, and here is the puppet master herself. Greetings to you, Grey Warden, or should I say Lady Cousland." He used her title like a weapon.

"I would greet you properly, Teryn Loghain, but I would prefer to see your head on a pike than speak with you." she replied. There was a quick murmur of voices. They dropped away suddenly, plunging the chamber into an eerie silence.

"I don't doubt that," Loghain said with more levity than she expected. "And we shall see who's head is on the block when this is over, won't we?"

* * *

Now it was Loghain himself on the floor, much as Cautherine had been. Except instead of Aine, Alistair was the one holding the blade and the man's life in his hands. With a growl, he stepped forward.

"This is for Duncan," he hissed, and his blade swung. He moved quickly, Maker knows, but it seemed to Aine like he was moving underwater. Every inch towards Loghain seemed to take forever. But then there was sickening sound of blade meeting flesh and a spray of blood flew through the air, coving Alistair, Aine and Anora equally.

Anora fell to her knees, cradling her father's body. Aine felt a twinge of sadness for Anora. She knew how it felt to see your father die in a pool of blood. She noticed that Anora did not weep, however, and the sadness turned quickly back to anger. Not as Aine wept over her own father's body. A father murdered in part because Loghain allowed it.

"So what say you, Gray Warden?" Arl Eamon's voice startled her out of her thoughts. "Have you decided who you will support to rule Ferelden?"

Aine's heart thumped in her chest, and skipped a beat. She was really going to do this, wasn't she? Had she lost what was left of her mind?

"I have," she said, her voice sounding stronger and far more confident than she felt. "Alistair will rule as the rightful King of Ferelden, and I will rule by his side."

"You what?" Alistair replied, unthinking. "This is the part where I wake up right?"

"Sorry to disappoint you," Aine said. Alistair raised his brows at her, but didn't say another word. A crooked grin snuck on to his face for a moment, but then fled as Eamon continued.

"Anora, you must now abdicate your throne and swear fealty to Alistair," Eamon commanded.

"If you think I will swear an oath to Alistair, you do not know me as well as you think," Anora spat.

"You must," Eamon said. "We cannot have more civil war, we must unite Ferelden if we are going to defend ourselves against the Blight. Alistair, you will need to do something about her."

"Put her in the tower, for now." Alistair's voice took on a resonance that Aine did not expect. "If I, if _we_ fall in battle, Anora can maintain her crown. Ferelden must be preserved. But until such a thing occurs . . . I name Arl Eamon as my regent. I am a Gray Warden first, and before I can take my crown, the Blight and the Archdemon must be stopped."

Aine was amazed by his eloquence. Alistair was indeed Maric's son as much as Cailan was. Blood was a powerful thing, she realized. Very, very powerful indeed.

* * *

Her companions clustered around her, Aine fidgeted in a small chamber just off the main hall in palace. There were things to be settled, the Arl told them before he spirited Alistair away. They had retreated here to clean off the blood and try to stay out of the way.

Aine should have felt relieved and comforted by the presence of her friends. But instead she was only filled with apprehension. If Alistair didn't come back soon, she though her head might explode. The door flew opened and banged against the wall. Aine spun around, for a moment expecting to need to draw her blades.

"So, there's this man that becomes king of Ferelden and gets engaged on the same day," Alistair said as he stomped into the room. Aine's hands dropped bonelessly from the hilt of her sword.

He was _changed_, there was no denying it. Aine walked into the Landsmeet with an unsure Gray Warden, but had walked out with a King. Aine felt Lelianna's hand on the small of her back, urging her forward. She took a few steps out of the cluster of her friends. She suddenly felt very unsure of herself. She'd never actually realized how tall Alistair was until this very moment.

"Being King is one thing, but what I am more interested in is the other bit," he said. "Are you sure of this?"

"Sure I want to marry you?" Aine asked, swallowing her heart. She noticed her hands were shaking but she ignored it. "Yes, that I'm sure of."

Alistair grinned, and the _King_ disappeared for a moment. "Good, that saves me having to muster up the courage to ask." Alistair's smile was as bright as the sun. Aine suddenly felt like she could destroy the entire darkspawn horde herself, just to keep that smile on his face.


	4. Darkness before the Dawn

Redcliffe castle was so very quiet, despite every room being full. Soldiers of all types, men, elves, dwarves, even mages were piled in every corner and every nook and cranny. Thankfully, Eamon had given a wing of the second floor to Aine and her companions alone, although the space might have been used better. Aine could have gotten on her knees to thank Eamon and Andraste for that. With the hallway deserted, no one had to see the pathetic and decidedly unheroic look on her face as she slowly dragged her feet back to her room. Alone.

Riordan's words played over and over in her mind, loud as a scream.

"_A darkspawn is an empty soulless creature. A Gray Warden is not. The essence of the archdemon will travel into the taint in the Gray Warden and be destroyed, but so will the Gray Warden."_

Aine shuddered.

She'd left Alistair in his own room for the moment; he'd been too distracted to even ask if she was going to return before morning. His face had been as pale and wan as her own was, she supposed. She could almost see what was going through his mind. If Riordan fell . . . she'd have to kill Alistair herself to stop him from taking that final blow. He may be willing to defer to her in many things, but there were some things he wouldn't stand for. And she knew to the depths of her soul that this would be one of them.

Frankly, Aine could care less about ruling Ferelden, so having no claim to the throne without him . . . didn't matter. She'd only suggested it, well, to propose to him. Sort of a convoluted way to do it, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. And marrying Alistair? That still seemed like a great idea. Yet now, the chances of that seemed so far away. _That_ was why she'd gone off on her own, to stumble back to her own room. How could she look into his eyes and see that unbearable _willingness _to die for Ferelden and for her? How much was she going to have to give up before this was over? She lost her family, her titles, her peace . . . she'd lost the chance at a long life. She'd lost her home. Her brother. Ser Gilmore. A bed. And now Alistair and her own life as well?

She closed the door to her room behind her and leaned against it heavily. Just as she was about the slide down on to the floor and sob herself into stupidity, a shadow near the fire moved. Unconsciously, she grabbed the hilt of the dagger on her belt. It made a slick sound as she slid it from the leather.

"Do not be alarmed," Morrigan said, "'Tis only I." Aine gritted her teeth and slammed the dagger back into the scabbard.

"Andraste's holy knickers, don't do that." She paused and cocked her head. "Is something wrong?"

"I am fine," Morrigan continued. "But I would imagine you are not. I know what Riordan told you."

Aine snorted. "Why am I not surprised? Why didn't you tell me? I'm sure you knew all along."

"Would you have believed me?"

"I would have; you're my friend. No matter what Alistair thinks of you, I am rather fond of you," Aine replied. "Now, I can't say that _he_ would have believed you, but I'm sure I could have convinced him."

"Persuasion is a skill you may want to use soon," Morrigan said. She smiled sadly. "Because I would hate for you to die. And although the two of you together makes me ill, I know that you love your slightly dim-witted King, and would prefer that neither of you die."

"You think?" Aine spat, but then thought better of it. "I'm sorry; it's not your fault."

"No, it is not. But I do have a way out. The loop in your hole, as it were."

"What do you mean?" Aine rushed across the room in a panic, grabbing Morrigan by the shoulders.

Morrigan reached up and brushed a lock of hair out of Aine's eyes. She looked so . . . sad, which was a very foreign look for Morrigan's face. Aine knew touching was not high on her list of pleasurable activities, but Morrigan didn't pull her hand away, just left it softly on the side of Aine's face.

"You _are_ my friend," Morrigan said. "Which I certainly never expected. And I appreciate that more than you will know. But I have stayed with you for other reasons than friendship. Flemeth sent me with you for a reason. But that reason could save your life, and Alistair's."

"Well, spit it out already!"

Morrigan pulled away then and looked back into the fire. "It is a ritual, performed on the eve of battle, in the dead of night. A ritual that will make it so no Gray Warden must die to destroy the archdemon."

"Let's do it," Aine said quickly.

"Let me finish," Morrigan continued, "Before you choose."

"I don't care. Blood magic, kill an elven servant or maybe Zevran? Whatever. It don't care. I have lost too much already, and to the Black City with being a hero. Enough is enough, I will do whatever you ask," Aine said.

Morrigan sighed. "So be it. Then you must ask Alistair to lay with me."

"WHAT?!" Aine screamed. "Are you mad?"

"Shhhh!," Morrigan hushed. "Do not wake the entire castle with your shouting."

"But . . but," Aine stuttered. "I thought this was some ritual, not a cheap excuse to get in Alistair's pants."

"Ha!" Morrigan snorted, "I have no more desire for that act with him than he does with me, I am sure. But it is the only way. If Alistair lay with me tonight, a child will be created in me. A child that bears the taint. At this early stage, the soul of the Old God than animates the archdemon will be able to pass into the child . . . and not destroy it. But it will be without the dark forces the corrupted it."

"Wait," Aine said. "You want to . . . have a child . . . with Alistair? And it will take the soul of the archdemon into it, instead of one of us?"

"Yes," Morrigan said.

"I . . . I don't know what to say. How would I ever convince Alistair of this? Why didn't you just ask him yourself?"

"Because he despises me, and you know it. But if you asked, he would do as you request. Especially if he thinks if might save you."

"But I . . . ," Aine said, meeting Morrigan's eyes. A single tear fell down Aine's cheek. It surprised her. With a half smile, Morrigan brushed the tear away with her thumb and even more surprisingly, kissed Aine's cheek.

"I have no desire to have your Alistair for myself. Once this happens and the battle is over, I will go. All I ask is that you do not follow. The child will be mine," Morrigan said.

"Don't you think Alistair might want to see his child?"

"He may, but he cannot. It is all I ask. As much as I do not want to leave the only friend I have ever had, I must do this. And I am sorry, but if you say no, I will leave tonight."

"Maker's breath, Morrigan," Aine sighed. "Nothing's ever half-way with you, is it?"

"I'm afraid not."

"I can't believe I'm saying this," Aine said. "But let me go talk to Alistair."

* * *

"By the Maker, I'm glad you came back," Alistair said, closing the door behind her. He kissed Aine's cheek and in the same spot that Morrigan had just a moment before. Aine closed her eyes. "I thought you might leave me here to pace a rut in the floor by myself."

"No," Aine said. "I just needed a moment."

"Is this about Morrigan?" he asked. Aine's head snapped up.

"What?"

"I saw her skulking outside your room before we went to talk to Riordan. She gave me a look. Well, let's say it was icy for even her. Something is up," he said.

"What else is new, eh?" She replied.

"You have a point," he said. He leaned against the frame of the bed and crossed his ankles. "So are you going to tell me?"

Aine swallowed. "You know I love you, right?"

"Could you make it sound more ominous? Just tell me."

"There is a way . . . there is a way for neither of us to have to die to kill the archdemon."

"If you mean running away, you know I can't do that," he said. "But you don't mean that do you? What's this about?"

"A ritual," she said softly.

"Ah, something Morrigan cooked up? What do we have to do?"

"I need you to do something . . . something I don't think you are going to like."

"Out with it, woman. You're making me crazy," Alistair said. "More crazy than usual, anyway."

"I need you to . . . I need you to lay with Morrigan," Aine finally managed to say.

"I have to what?" Alistair said, his eyes wide as saucers.

"You heard me," she sighed. "And I don't like it either, but I like the idea of you dead even less."

"Let me get this right, you want me to participate is some sex ritual with Morrigan?" He sat down heavily on the bed. "Are you sure? What does this even mean?"

"I won't lie to you, it will create a child," Aine said.

"What?!" Alistair spat, but managing to do it more quietly than Aine had. "Morrigan wants to have my what?"

"The child will take on the soul of the archdemon, but without the taint. The taint will be destroyed, instead of the child. Instead of one of us," Aine explained.

Alistair stood up, paced halfway across the room and back. He sat down again, hard, the bed creaking in protest. "Are you sure this is what you want me to do?"

"Please, " Aine sobbed, kneeling down on the floor and resting her head in his lap. "I don't want to lose you too."

Alistair sighed as her stoked her hair. "I don't want to lose you either." Aine looked up at him. His face was grim. He pushed her away and got to his feet. "All right then. Let's go talk to Morrigan . . . before . . . before I change my mind."

* * *

Aine sat on the floor in front of the fire, staring into the flicking flames and tried not to think about what was happening in Alistair's room, just down the hall. What was taking so long?

"Maker's breath," she muttered to herself. "Of all the things . . . ."

If she'd been asked, at any point in her life before this day, if she would have been willing to die for what I was right and good in the world, she would have said yes. And her own life? She would still have given it. But she'd never _loved_ before; not like this. And her own life was one thing, but she wouldn't give his life for anything.

She wished Duncan was here. But then thought better of it. Duncan would be so disappointed in her for letting this happen. A child with the soul of an Old God. Andraste's ass, that might end up being worse than a Blight. Aine only hoped the taint and Orzamar's darkspawn would have done their duty and slaughtered her before that happened.

Behind her the door swung open and closed. She took a deep breath and turned around. Alistair stood at the door, his hair wet, wearing only his pants with his shirt draped over his arm. A few drops of water slid down his arms. She realized what had taken so long. He looked like he'd dunked himself under water, presumably to try to wash away what he'd just done with Morrigan from the look in his eyes.

Aine scrambled to her feet and went to him, but hesitated to touch him. He stared at her blankly. A cold wind blew through Aine's heart. What had she done? What if this was worse than death? Had this killed something inside of him?

Then, suddenly, he smiled at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Well, that was pathetic," he said softly. "Thank the Maker I never have to do that again."

"Sex or sex with Morrigan?" Aine asked, forcing a grin.

Alistair cocked an eyebrow. "Very funny," he said. The smile on his face crumbled. "Unless you don't want me anymore."

"Of course I want you," Aine said, finally touching him. Just the tips of her fingers on his shoulders, but it sent him into motion. He slid down to his knees and wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his head against her breasts.

"Good," he said. "Because I want you, right now. I want to get rid of _her_ touch on me and have yours instead." He looked up at her.

With a crooked grin, Aine slipped down on to her knees, still in the circle of his arms. "Are you sure you are up for that?"

"Trust me when I say yes," he replied, standing suddenly and scooping Aine up into his arms like she was a child. "But this time, you have to follow my lead," he said as he tossed her on to the bed. "I've got some issues to deal with you see," he continued. He crawled onto the bed over her.

Aine looked up at him, amazed at the merry and lustful look in his eyes. He'd continually amazed her in the last months, since he'd finally taken her to his tent. There was more about him to learn than she ever expected. Then he kissed her and she stopped thinking about anything but his touch. Whatever guilt she'd been plagued with fled like the darkness before the dawn.


	5. Happily Ever After

_So this is just a little stubby chapter, but I wanted to have a happy ending to this little tale. Maybe Aine and Alistair will have more adventures someday. Like when the expansion pack is released. (heh) But until then, they get to ride off into the sunset together, figuratively anyway. Hope you enjoy it._

_

* * *

  
_

Aine would have thought that after all of it, after ending the Blight and everything else, she would never be nervous again. But as she stood staring at her reflection in the long mirror, it felt as if ten thousand darkspawn had taken up residence in her belly. The woman staring back at her in the glass was completely unrecognizable. Aine had grown so used to the image of herself in blood soaked leather armor, the twin hilts of her blades sticking up on either side of her head, her hair sensibly pulled away from her face in braids . . . but this person in the mirror?

She was dressed in gold. Her curls hung free around her face. There was a simple golden circlet on her forehead. No queen this one; Anora, the Queen of Ferelden, was locked in a tower until she swore fealty to the new King. And Aine didn't expect that time would come soon.

This woman in the mirror, in less than an hour, would be the princess consort, and wife of the King of Ferelden. King Alistair Theirin.

"It is time," a small voice called through the door. Aine slowly padded over and opened it. Callia, the elven maid Lady Isolde insisted Aine take into her service, stood outside the door with a broad grin on her face. "You look beautiful . . . your Majesty," Callia said softly.

"Thank you, but lets not start with the titles already, shall we?" Aine said. "I have at least an hour before I'm anything other than perhaps _Lady _Aine Cousland."

Callia shook her head, "No, Lady Aine, you do not. It is time. Now."

Aine shivered. "Excuse me while I go throw up, will you?"

Callia looked worried. "You do not want to marry the King?"

"I want to be _married_ to Alistair, yes," Aine sighed. "But _getting_ married to the _King_ scares the life out of me."

"I did not know there was a difference," Callia twittered.

"Miles of difference," Aine said. "But I made that damned fool into a King, so I best not moan about it now."

Trying to keep her head on, Aine followed Callia down the hall to a set of closed doors just outside the throne room. The same doors Aine had burst through at the Landsmeet when she set Ferelden on its head. And when she, of all the mad things, proposed to the future King of Ferelden in front of a throng of shocked nobles. The castle chamberlain stood grinning at the door, along with two nervous looking guards.

"Are you ready, my lady?" he asked.

"No," Aine said honestly, "But let's get on with it anyway."

The chamberlain's grin widened. He nodded to the guards who each took a handle of the heavy double doors. Slowly, they pushed the doors open. The room looked far different than it did during the Landsmeet. The open space was filled with chairs, each one filled with nobles and more unexpected guests. Mages and Templars, dwarves and elves; Irving and Wynne, Zevran, Leliana.

And on the dais at the far end, standing in front of his golden throne, King Alistair Theirin, in his gold dragon armor and crown, looked as nervous as Aine felt. Aine stepped forward, crossing the threshold. She stopped as a murmur of voices washed over her. Taking a deep breath, she started forward. Arl Eamon appeared like magic as her side, offering her his arm.

"I know I am not your father," he said quietly. "But I am certain that Bryce Cousland would be a very proud and happy man if he was here. As are we all."

Aine kissed his cheek. "Thank you Eamon. Can you make sure I don't pass out and fall on my face?"

He chuckled. "I will. Now, let us go meet your King, before _he_ faints, shall we?"

Aine didn't even realize her feet were moving. She felt as if she was floating down the thick red carpet laid between the rows of chairs. The throng came to their feet, all eyes on her. Wynne's eyes were damp, and a stoic looking Knight Commander Greagoir had his hand on the small of her back. Zevran winked. Leliana looked blissful. And her brother, Fergus, now Teryn Cousland, was smiling so broadly she thought his face might split open.

Aine felt a sudden pang that the closest friend she'd ever had, enigmatic and sometimes cruel, but always so damned wise, Morrigan was absent. Of course, by now, she was sure to be awkwardly large with Alistair's child. _Holy Maker, _Aine thought, and shuddered. Pushing the thought away, she absently noticed as Eamon kissed her feverish cheek and left her standing at the base of the stairs.

The Revered Mother beckoned to her, and she tried to focus on each, step, taking care not to step on the hem of her gown. She looked at her hand, grasping the folds of her dress, terrified that if she looked up, she'd never make it. Gently, the Revered Mother took her hand, and she felt it placed in Alistair's. His hands were clammy.

Aine looked up at him and met his eyes. A slow smile spread across his face, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that endearing way she could never resist. Suddenly, all the anxiety she felt melted away like ice at the end of winter. How could she have been nervous? This was why she'd fought so hard; that look in his eyes when he looked at her was the reason she had done it all. It was about sodding time she got a reward for all she'd suffered through.

She _loved_ him. Nothing else mattered.

She knew the priestess said something, but she didn't hear a word of it. She was certain Alistair hadn't heard a word of it either. They just stared at each other and the rest of Thedas disappeared. It was as if they were the only two people left in the entire world, and Aine was perfectly content with that idea.

"Your Majesty," the Revered Mother said, and Aine snapped to attention at this bit. "You may now kiss your bride."

With a smile bright enough to light up the entire room, brighter than the light that sprung from her blade when she ended the Archdemon, Alistair leaned forward and kissed her, pulling her up into his arms so that only the tips of her toes touched the ground. The room burst out into roaring applause and cheers, but Aine didn't hear that either.

All she heard was the beating of her heart, and his. _Their_ hearts now.

Now and forever.


End file.
